"I'm glad you're here." Eric's voice drifted from the living room. Trevor could see the front door -- and Duncan -- from the darkened bedroom where he sat still dressed for sleep, bare-chested and in a pair of worn sweatpants. "I take it you heard the news this morning."

"Yeah." Duncan made a sweeping glance around the room. "That was the kid that Trevor..."

"Yeah."

Eric must have told Duncan what had happened. His confession to Eric seemed eons ago, rather than just three days. So much for trust and keeping secrets. Not that it mattered anymore; Trevor had a plan to put it all behind him.

Eric said a few more quiet words to Duncan and left the apartment. Duncan walked to the bedroom and leaned against the door frame. "How are you?"

Trevor snorted. "How do you think I am?"

"Want to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about." Trevor shrugged. "He's dead. I'm guilty."

"Trevor, there's more to it than that..."

"There's not." Trevor rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "There is nothing left to say or do. Except one thing." Trevor rose from the bed, the floor cold against his bare feet, and picked up his sword. "Fight me."

"What?" Duncan straightened up, but made no move for his katana.

"Fight me." Trevor moved into a battle stance.

Duncan shook his head. "I'd win in a heartbeat, especially in the state you're in."

Trevor tossed his sword aside; it clattered on the hardwood floor. "Then let's skip the foreplay, okay? I forfeit. Take my head."

Duncan stood his ground. "I won't do it."

"Take it!"

"No!" Duncan held out his hand, palm forward. "Trevor, please..."

"Come on, man!" Trevor shoved Duncan against the wall and groped for the katana still in Duncan's jacket. "Just close your eyes and swing the damned sword! Take my freaking Quickening. I don't want it!"

"I will not intentionally kill one of my students."

Trevor didn't understand the pain in Duncan's eyes, and didn't want to. He finally worked the katana free, put it in Duncan's hand and positioned the blade against his own throat. "Do it, Duncan. Set me free."

"No."

"Do it!"

"For the last time, no!" Duncan maneuvered the katana away from Trevor's throat and tossed it aside.

Trevor grabbed the lapels of Duncan's coat. "Kill me, damn you! Or do I have to find a less honorable Immortal to do the job?"

Duncan gripped Trevor's shoulders and shook him hard. "Stop this, Trevor. Stop it now. Your death isn't going to solve anything."

Duncan blurred in Trevor's eyes as the tears came. "Please, Duncan. Kill me. End my pain." Trevor felt his knees buckle. Only Duncan's hands kept him from dropping to the floor. Gently Duncan guided Trevor to the bed and propped his rag-doll form against the headboard.

Duncan sat down facing Trevor. He paused a moment, sighing. "Dying isn't the solution, Trevor. It won't help anything."

"It would take away my pain." Trevor stared blankly at the seascape on the opposite wall. "But I deserve the pain, don't I? I put him in enough of it." A chill ran up his spine, and Trevor shivered. "But I can heal, and he can't."

"You were waging your own private war. He was an innocent bystander who got caught in the crossfire."

"And he had no idea he was even on the battlefield." Trevor closed his eyes. The cold fire was spreading from his spine into his chest. He imagined it was death taking him, but he knew it was just guilt. "I'm an idiot. You all tried to tell me what I was doing, and I wouldn't listen."

"You couldn't hear us over the roar of your anger."

Trevor opened his eyes and found Duncan's steadfast gaze on him. "Eric was right. I am a monster. A nasty, angry, vengeful, ugly monster."

"I know the feeling. That's why I tried to warn you before." Duncan squeezed his eyes shut. "Know anything about Scottish history, Trevor?"

"No."

"In the 1700's, after the Scots attempted to rebel against the English, the English persecuted the Scots. They even killed women and children so the horrible Scots wouldn't breed." Duncan shook his head. "I was one of those horrible Scots. And in revenge I killed the English, guilty and innocent alike, good people and bad. I judged with my anger." Duncan offered a sour smile. "I've been there, Trevor. I've done things that have haunted me hundreds of years later. But death doesn't tend to come easily or quickly for an Immortal, especially at his own hand, so you have to learn to live with it." Duncan nodded toward the door. "I think Eric would like you to stick around too."

Trevor shook his head. "He wants the Trevor I was, not who I've become."

"He's worried about you."

"I know." Trevor frowned. Eric had taken care of him since that first news bulletin: got him out of the house to go to work, made him eat in spite of his loss of appetite, held him in the night -- all this in spite of their recent problems.

"He's not the only one who's worried."

Trevor glanced up at Duncan, then back down at the bed. "You knew it was coming. You tried to warn me. But I still screwed up." Trevor drew random shapes with his finger on the bed covers. "I did exactly what you said I would. I sank to their level." Trevor turned his pained face to Duncan. "How do I climb back out? What do I do, turn myself in?"

Duncan shook his head. "Morally, I'd say yes, but Immortally, no. Giving away our secret by not aging while spending your life in prison is a bad choice, even if it's the 'right' one."

"Yeah." Trevor bit his lip. "So what can I do?"

"Forgive yourself." Duncan gave a wan smile. "I know that's difficult, but over time, it's possible. You just have to earn it."

"Earn my own forgiveness." Trevor turned the idea over in his head. "How?"

"To start with, not trying to get yourself killed. And no one said you had to give up the good fight. You just have to give up the vengeance part of it. Keep patrolling, keep interfering." Duncan grinned. "People tend to be a little intimidated by madmen with swords." Trevor finally broke into a half-smile. "Just keep the anger and violence in check. Only use it when you have to."

"Like a cop."

Duncan nodded. "Yeah, sort of. Doing your part to keep the riff-raff off the streets, keeping other people from being hurt."

Trevor sighed deeply. "I don't know if I can."

"I do." Duncan looked Trevor in the eye. "I know you can, because you want to do something. Right now, that something is to die. But that won't do anybody any good, and it won't bring that kid back." Duncan winked slyly. "You're going to be around for a while, Trevor. Might as well do some good while you're at it."

A movement caught Trevor's eye, and he looked up to see Eric standing in the doorway. Duncan turned to see what Trevor was looking at; turning back, he clasped Trevor's shoulder. "Let me know when you want to get back to training. And if you need anything..."

"You've done more than enough." Trevor gave a wan smile. "Thanks."

Eric walked Duncan to the front door, then returned and sat down next to Trevor. Trevor stared at the bed. "How much did you hear?"

"Enough."

Eric's arms encircled Trevor, and he laid his head on Eric's shoulder. Eric smelled of the musky, comforting scent of his aftershave, and his shoulder was warm against Trevor's cheek. The urge to fall asleep tugged at Trevor, but every time he closed his eyes, the face of the kid he had killed loomed in his mind's eye.

"You're cold," Eric said, rubbing Trevor's chilly arms. "Want me to go turn up the heat?"

"No."

"You sure?" Eric pulled the covers up around himself and Trevor. "Maybe some tea?"

"Later." Don't leave me. Trevor couldn't bring himself to say it aloud, but huddled closer to Eric. "When do you have to leave for work?"

"I don't have a shift today. And I called you in sick." Eric pressed his lips to Trevor's temple. "We can stay in all day."

Trevor sighed as Eric stroked his hair. The tension was finally beginning to drain from him, but the sorrow and guilt remained. Those were things he would have to work through -- with everyone he'd hurt. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"For everything."

"Shhhh. That can wait." Eric tilted Trevor's chin up and met his eyes. "But we're okay. Okay?"

Trevor nodded and leaned into Eric's shoulder again. The warmth, the musky smell and the gentle touch were making him sleepy. Maybe he could push the bloody image out of his mind long enough to sleep, however briefly.

Bright and pretty flowers, marigolds and daisies and roses, were scattered on the sidewalk in front of Frank's Deli. It looked as if a flower stand had been knocked over; if only that had been the truth. The cards, notes, candles and other accoutrements of a street shrine belied the cheeriness of the flowers. Trevor took a deep breath, swallowed hard and added two blood-red roses to the menagerie. He had known what he would have to face: others' expressions of love for the life he had taken. With his insides twisting into knots, he knelt for a closer look at the cards.

"Did you know him?" A woman, her weathered face tear-stained, sat down on the steps near him.

Trevor shook his head. "Knew somebody like him," he managed. "Victim of senseless violence."

The woman nodded. "Happens too much these days. But it's always tragic."

"You knew him?"

"I'm Keith's grandmother."

Keith. Trevor had heard the name on the news, but it hadn't seemed real until she said it. The lump in Trevor's throat grew; he could barely swallow past it. "I'm sorry." It didn't seem like enough. Trevor groped for something more comforting to say, but the words were beyond his reach.

"So am I." The woman sighed and pushed her chin-length salt-and-pepper hair behind her ears. "Some people aren't sorry, though," she continued. "The boys who used to pick on him, call him a sissy, they're not sad. They say he deserved it."

The woman's words reminded Trevor of his own adolescence. "That's terrible." Not knowing what else to say, he stared at a candle flame flickering in the breeze. The tall pillar of white wax kept the fire away from the foliage surrounding it. The flame danced, flickered, stood again, wavered and finally went out.

The woman leaned in conspiratorially. "They said he was gay -- used worse words for it, but I won't repeat them." She shrugged, putting her foot out to nudge a small wooden cross on a stand away from another candle flame. "He might have been. Might not have. Won't ever know now."

Trevor's stomach turned over. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "It's a shame he'll never get to grow up and be who he was meant to be."

"He really could have been something." She waved a hand at the deli. It was a proud little shop, Trevor finally noticed, not very big but clean and neat. "He loved this place. And he was a whiz with advertising and such. He really could have made something of his dad's place here. His older brother didn't want it; Keith was set to inherit it."

"He would have made his family proud." Trevor swallowed, the lump in his throat hardening again.

"As long as they didn't know what he was. If he was." She frowned. "He never would have said it if he was, you know. His mother would have thrown a fit, and his big brother -- who defended him against these neighborhood bullies -- probably would have beat Keith up himself." Trevor's heart sank down to his stomach and added to the string of knots there. The woman's hair came loose and brushed her cheeks as she shook her head. "I'm not like that, you see. I would have taken him in, but Keith probably didn't know that, wouldn't have guessed it." She sighed again, and tears welled in her eyes. "What a shame. You know somebody their entire life, or they know you their entire life, but most of the time you don't ever really know each other, no matter how much you love them."

"No, you don't." Trevor shook his head solemnly.

"You are, aren't you?"

Trevor looked up, startled. "Am what?"

The woman's eyes danced as she smiled and shook her head. "You know." She mouthed the word.

Trevor smiled sheepishly. "Yeah."

"There's a little of Keith in you." She reached out and touched Trevor's arm. "Hold his memory in your heart, would you?"

Trevor's chest contracted, and he nodded. "I will. And I'll keep you in my prayers." He held the woman's frail hand in his own as the lump in his throat swelled again. "I'm truly sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." The woman squeezed his hand. "What's your name, son?"

"Trevor."

"I'll keep you in my prayers too, Trevor."

Trevor stood slowly, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He offered the woman a smile and a farewell, waving to her as he walked away from the shop. Trevor's heart ached for her. He would do his best to keep Keith in his heart, to make up for his wrongdoing and to keep what happened to himself and to Keith from happening to anyone else -- without becoming the monster he was trying to fight.